


Finders Keepers

by Govi



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-26
Updated: 2010-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Govi/pseuds/Govi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Mellors is Sean's character in <i>Lady Chatterley's Lover</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:**

> Mellors is Sean's character in _Lady Chatterley's Lover_

** **Finders Keepers** **

  
Suddenly, the rain was pouring. Viggo muttered a curse, blaming himself for not returning to the Hall when he had first noticed the sun had stopped shining and there were clouds gathering.

He took off his jacket, threw it over his head then started walking. Mellors’ cottage looming up was not a surprise and felt somehow inevitable. He hesitated for only a few seconds and then he knocked on the door.

Had it been only three days ago, when he had almost stumbled upon the very same cottage?

It was built of bricks; still it had seemed almost organic, as if it had merged with the woods surrounding it. There was a man in front of the cottage, his torso naked, washing himself in a large bowl of water sitting on a roughly carved wooden table.

Viggo had coughed to make himself noticed and the man had turned around slowly. Water dripped from his face and onto his chest, ran over peaked nipples in the chilly morning air and Viggo found himself staring.

“Good morning,” he said finally.

“Good morning,” the man had replied, “Sir,” he added after letting amazingly green eyes rake over Viggo’s expensive clothing. “You must be one of Sir Clifford’s guests. I am Mellors, the gamekeeper.”

His words had been polite enough, but his gaze slightly unnerving, almost impudent. He had seemed unfazed by his near nakedness and made no attempt to cover himself in the shirt that hung over a nearby chair.

Viggo had refused the offered cup of tea and had almost fled away from those calculating eyes. He didn’t stay away long though, had been walking in wide circles round the cottage a day later, until Mellors caught him in the act and invited him in, his knowing grin almost an insult, but enticing nevertheless.

Again he had refused, ashamed of feeling intimidated by a servant, and Mellors had just shrugged and said, “Suit yourself…Sir.”

“Do not call me that,” he had blurted out, surprising himself.

“What shall I call you then?”

“Viggo, call me Viggo.”

“Well Viggo, come back when you have made up your mind.”

And now he had.

Mellors, properly dressed this time, opened the door and stepped back. “Caught by the rain?” and when Viggo nodded, “Aye. You’d better come in.”

The room was small and sober, but tidy. A black dog was lying in front of the hearth, its tail thumping the floor. Mellors handed Viggo a towel and he dried his dripping hair, glad to hide his face.

“Maybe you should take some of those clothes off, so I can dry them.”

Viggo looked at him for a moment, uneasy under that steady gaze. “It seems hardly worth it, I will have to go as soon as it stops raining.”

Mellors shrugged and turned around to pick up a big white teapot. The rain was streaming down the only window, blurring the view of the outside world. Viggo took off his coat when Mellors offered him tea and put up a chair for him in front of the hearth, shoving the dog aside with his foot.

He sipped the strong, almost black, tea carefully while Mellors sat down on a footstool near to him, racking his brain for some sort of conversation. He looked up into those intense green eyes still gazing at him and he had to steady his teacup, which was rattling noisily on the saucer.

“Next time I’ll give you a mug,” Mellors said with a smirk and Viggo suddenly laughed, his nervousness slowly ebbing away.

“You are quite blunt Mellors, for a...”

“For a servant you mean? Well, I am not yours, am I?”

“No, you are not.”

“If I was I would kneel down to take off your shoes.”

Viggo blinked, “My shoes?”

“Aye, they are soaking wet, you might catch a cold. I am not too proud to get on my knees for you anyway, though,” and now Mellors slid from his stool and onto his knees, his hands reaching out to Viggo’s feet.

His throat suddenly dry, Viggo swallowed and put down his teacup. He tried to speak, but Mellors’ hands were already on his shoes, unlacing them. Mesmerized he watched as Mellors took off his shoes and then rolled off his socks. “Cold,” Mellors said, looking up while his hands rubbed one bare foot, long thumbs pressing the instep, then taking the other foot in his hands. “I reckon the rest of you is cold too,” and a hand slid under Viggo’s pants leg and then up over his ankle and calf.

Thoughts tumbled through Viggo’s head; he should go back to the Hall, they would be waiting for him, what was he thinking letting this man fondle him? But instead he closed his eyes and slumped back in the chair. Mellors’ hands were wonderful, his fingers working magic on cold skin and tense muscles and Viggo had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning.

He jerked and his eyes flew open when Mellors’ other hand cupped his groin through his pants. Eyes still on Viggo, Mellors worked him, the pink tip of his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. Viggo opened his mouth to say something, but found out he could not.

Mellors grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “That is what you came for isn’t it?” He got to his feet and grabbed Viggo by the elbow, pulling him up. “Come on.”

“Come on where?”

“To the bedroom. I can hardly fuck you in the chair, can I?”

He staggered into the bedroom as Mellors’ hand on his back pushed him inside and heard his own laboured breathing as Mellors undressed him, fingers nimble on Viggo’s elegant clothing, as if he had been undressing gentlemen for years. *And perhaps he has.* 

This had happened to him only once, in a private school, and it had been a painful experience. After that, Viggo had never allowed anyone to take him again and still, here he was, on all fours on a stranger’s bed, naked and offering himself willingly to Sir Clifford’s gamekeeper.

He moaned when a calloused hand stroked between his legs and then a slick finger slid inside him, then one more, preparing him, taking him already. His face was pushed down into a pillow that had Mellors scent all over it, woods, fresh air and perhaps a hint of blood. He rubbed his face into it while Mellors pushed into him, a big hand on Viggo’s neck to keep him down.

Mellors cock felt huge, rough as the hand on his neck and *fuck the pain* he loved every single inch of it. Mellors did not believe in courting it seemed, but it was exactly what Viggo wanted, even though he hadn’t known, a rough, hard fucking, stripping away the society rules separating them.

The hand released his neck, pulled him up slightly instead and then closed around his cock. He looked down at Mellors’ hand, realizing he was still clothed, when he saw the rolled up sleeves, only now feeling the rough fabric against his naked ass and then he had to close his eyes as he came hard, too intensely to make a sound.

He slumped down again, welcoming Mellors’ final thrust, not at all bothered by the long string of hot, dirty words coming from him.


End file.
